


Mischief Managed

by Gemmiel



Series: Mischief [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, ten/donna - Freeform, the tardis plays matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2646875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Donna are quarrelling, so the TARDIS has to play matchmaker again. Sequel to my story "Mischief," but probably stands okay on its own. Ten/Donna in a sexual relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted elsewhere under the name EllyF. The title is of course swiped from J.K. Rowling.

"That's it! I'm through!"

The Doctor stalked down one of the TARDIS' endless corridors. Above him, he heard the time machine humming anxiously.

"No," he growled, "I won't reconsider, and I _won't_ try again, damn it. I've been bashing on for the last two weeks, trying to make this work. But she... is... _impossible_!"

_Hmmmmmm?_

"I mean it. I've had it with her. I'm just going to drop her off in Chiswick and be on my way. She'll be glad to see the back of me, and Rassilon knows I'll be happy to finally have some peace and quiet again." He strode into the console room and began throwing levers. Above him, the TARDIS' humming rose to a plaintive whine.

"I know you like her," he said, banging his mallet on the console with more force than was really necessary, "and I'm sorry. Really, I am. But she's driving me stark raving mad. Every time I turn around, it's another barney. I can't pick up a book in the library or have a cuppa without her starting a row about it."

He slammed a lever down, and the groaning sounds of dematerialisation began, sounding more woeful than usual.

"There's no use in whingeing about it," he said to the ceiling. "My mind is made up. Home she goes."

The TARDIS moaned.

*****

"Don't forget your hat box."

"Don't worry, Spaceman. I'm not leaving a single damn thing behind. I know you don't want any reminders of me cluttering up the place."

Donna Noble picked up as much of her baggage as she could carry, and the Doctor collected the rest-- including her hatbox. She stalked for the front doors, her shoulders stiff. She looked furious.

Didn't bother him much. He'd pretty much got used to her looking that way over the past fortnight.

He'd been mad, absolutely barking mad, to think that he and Donna Noble could have any sort of intimate relationship. As a friend, she'd been tolerable. Barely. But as a lover--

Well, he'd managed to refrain from chucking her out into the Time Vortex. And for that, he bloody well deserved a medal.

The TARDIS' doors creaked open, and she stepped out into blackness. The Doctor, still laden with baggage, followed her.

The instant he stepped outside, the doors slammed shut behind him, and the grinding sound of dematerialisation began.

The Doctor spun around and stared, mouth agape, at the improbable sight of his TARDIS fading into nothingness on her own. "Get back here, you bloody piece of rubbish!" he bellowed, but the TARDIS vanished. He thought he heard a mocking laugh as the grinding sounds echoed and faded, but it was probably just his imagination.

"Oi!" Donna had turned around too. "What the _hell_ are you up to, Time Boy?"

"Wasn't me!" The Doctor knew he sounded whiny, but really, this was too much. The TARDIS had gotten him into this mess with Donna in the first place, and now she seemed determined to keep him trapped in a relationship neither of them was happy with. His old girl could be every bit as willful as a humanoid, and about eight times harder to argue with.  "She just-- took off!"

"Lovely." Donna sounded as if it were anything but. "Like a bad penny, you are. Can't get rid of you. I s'pose I'll have to ask Mum to let you kip on the sofa, then."

"Don't trouble yourself about me," he snapped. "I can just sleep in an alley somewhere."

"Sounds fine to me." She turned back around... and stopped so abruptly that the Doctor almost ploughed into her.

"Go on," he said impatiently. "No point in standing here in the dark. She'll find me when she wants to find me, wherever I am."

"It's not that." Donna looked back over her shoulder at him. "Doctor... this isn't Chiswick."

*****

Of all the planets in all the star systems in all the galaxies, the TARDIS had just _had_ to pick this one. The Doctor barely restrained another growl. He should have sold the old girl for scrap on Jundarin, just as he'd threatened a month ago. It would have saved him a hell of a lot of trouble.

"This is T'racsina," he said, sniffing the air.

"How can you tell? I know you're a superior life form and far more clever than any mere human and all that bunk, but it's bloody dark."

"That fragrance. It's the Cymbeline flower. Only grows on one planet anywhere in all of space. This one."

He heard her draw in a deep breath. "That's a lovely smell."

"It's a lovely planet. One of the most beautiful worlds in any system. Lovely flora, perfect weather, delicious fruit dangling from every tree, and no fauna that's even remotely dangerous. Like a natural park, only no park was ever so perfect. They call it..." He sighed. "The honeymoon planet."

"Oh, my _God_." Donna dropped her baggage with a thump. "She's doing it again, isn't she? Trying to manipulate us."

"Course she is." The Doctor tossed the bags he'd been carrying aside and sat down on the grass with another sigh. "I should have expected it, I suppose. She's gotten bloody-minded in her old age. Cantankerous old piece of junk, she is."

"Let me guess." Donna sat down beside him, leaving a substantial amount of space between them. There had been a time, he thought wistfully, when she would have cuddled up right next to him and dropped her head onto his shoulder. But that time hadn't lasted long, and now it was gone for good. "The fragrance of the-- what do you call it?-- Cymbeline flower is an aphrodisiac, and it's going to make us want to shag like minx."

"Nah." He looked up at the star-sprinkled sky, which was beginning to fade to navy blue at the horizon. "Nothing like that here. It's just incredibly beautiful."

"Right now it's just plain dark."

"Won't be for long. The old girl brought us here so we could see the sunrise."

"Huh. Bit of a romantic, isn't she? Especially considering she's an old wooden box."

"She's not just a wooden box, and you know it. But... well, she doesn't understand humanoids as well as she thinks she does. That's the problem, I reckon. She wanted you to stick around, which is why she threw us together in the first place. But it never occurred to her that we might not be a good match."

Donna snorted. "There's the understatement of the century."

"Oi," he snapped, stung. "We got along all right for a couple of weeks."

They'd got along more than _all right_ , and she knew it as well as he did. For two weeks, things had been wonderful between them. Heavenly, even. They'd laughed together, held hands constantly, and made love with wild enthusiasm every chance they got. The Doctor had been ridiculously, genuinely happy, for the first time in a very long time. He'd gone head over heels in a way that was utterly absurd for a nine-hundred-year-old bloke, and hadn't even been slightly embarrassed by it.

And then, quite suddenly, they'd started rowing. Loudly and furiously. He wasn't sure why or how it had started. But it had escalated rapidly, and before long just the sight of her had been enough to make his teeth grind together.

The horizon was becoming edged by gold. It was a beautiful sight, but he turned his head away, and looked at her instead. In the dim light, she looked gorgeous, her long hair waving around her shoulders, her eyes wide as they watched the sunrise. He was surprised to find that the sight of her didn't make his teeth grind together.

_I reckon I can stand her as long as she keeps her big gob shut,_ he thought.

He was annoyed to realise that gazing at her beautiful, gilded profile not only failed to make his teeth grind together, but it caused other physical reactions. Physical reactions that he definitely did not want to have. Not for her, not any more.

But he couldn't seem to help himself. And the physical response was particularly irritating because Gallifreyans were not exactly like humans, sexually speaking. Once he got an erection, it was almost impossible to get rid of it except by means of a cold shower... or an orgasm.

He hadn't had sex with her in two weeks, ever since the quarreling had started, and the thought of coming made his cock twitch in his trousers. Well, not just the thought of coming. The thought of coming while she stroked him, while she kissed him, while he entered her soft, warm, wet body and slid deep inside...

_That's enough out of you_ , he told his rebellious anatomy sternly, trying to will the reaction away. _Quiet down._

It didn't work. It couldn't work. All the willpower in the world couldn't make his erection go away. That simply wasn't how Gallifreyan biology functioned.

Marvelous. He was stranded on one of the most beautiful planets in all creation with a woman he couldn't abide, and he wanted sex. No, he _needed_ sex. This, he mused resentfully, was all the TARDIS' fault.

When she came back, he was so going to reprogram the old girl.

With a sledgehammer.

"Ohhhh," Donna breathed, and his cock twitched some more, because her voice had sounded like that in bed, and he couldn't help remembering her body wrapped around his, her mouth against his ear. "Look at that."

He forced himself to look away from her, and looked toward the horizon. Rays of silver and gold were beginning to streak the dusky blue sky, and lovely, melodic birdsong rose to meet the dawn like a glorious symphony. The sky slowly shifted from dark to light, the deep blue transforming to brilliant, unearthly hues of rose and amber. It was so dazzlingly lovely that the Doctor almost forgot about the ache in his trousers.

Almost, but not quite.

"Ohhhh," Donna whispered again. He remembered her whispering similar sounds into his ear while he pounded into her, and his cock started to do the Macarena.

Blimey. He was in so much trouble, and it was all due to one mischievous and disobedient blue box.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, and then turned her head and levelled an accusing glare at him. "Why didn't _you_ ever bring me here?"

He'd actually been planning on bringing her here for their one-month anniversary, but things between them had gone from bad to worse, and he'd eventually scrapped the idea. There was no point in celebrating a month of quarrels and rows, was there? Though admittedly it hadn't been a month of argument, not really. Their first two weeks together had been two of the best weeks of his life. And then--

What the hell _had_ happened, anyway?

He didn't know. But he counted up the days, and realised that this was in fact the one-month anniversary of the day the TARDIS had trapped the two of them. One month since the first time they'd made love. He and the TARDIS had a telepathic bond, and so the fact that he'd been planning on bringing Donna here today had of course been no secret from the time machine.

The TARDIS had simply followed through with his first plan, and ignored the second.

"Didn't think you'd like it," he answered, unable to curb the snark in his voice. "Too quiet."

"Oi!" Birds took flight at the sharply uttered syllable, and she scowled at him. He scowled back.

"Always yelling, you are. Even on a gorgeous planet like this one, you can't stop."

"You don't listen unless I yell, do you?" Her voice was still loud, and more birds rose into the air, their brightly coloured plumage fluttering against the golden sky. "The only voice you ever really listen to is your own!"

He was sick to death of being slagged off. "At least mine isn't shrill enough to shatter glass!"

"Then get me back home, and you can go on through the galaxy talking to yourself. You and your big gob. The perfect couple."

"I don't have to be alone," he snapped. "I'm sure I can find someone better to travel with. Someone less annoying. Someone who's not a constant pain in my arse."

"Good luck finding anyone who wants to put up with you. At least while they're conscious."

"I can't wait to get rid of you, you wittering, gobby mare!"

"I can't wait to get home, you pompous, arrogant prat!"

He discovered they were facing each other, glaring into each other's eyes. His cock was throbbing with a desperate urgency-- which was ridiculous; he'd been yelling at her, not kissing her-- and he couldn't help reaching for her. He grabbed her by the upper arms, none too gently, and yanked her onto his lap.

She shoved him right over onto his back.

_More to come..._


	2. Chapter 2

The green-gold grass was soft and fragrant, the sky was brightening to sapphire, the air was heavily scented with the wondrous fragrance of Cymbeline flowers, and birdsong rose around them in a chorus that rivalled the Westminster Cathedral choir. But the Doctor was oblivious to everything except the soft feminine form pressing against his aching body, and the feel of her lips against his throat.

"I hate you," she mumbled, kissing him just beneath his ear.

"Mmmmm," he answered, pressing his face into her hair and breathing in the scent of her. She smelled so much sweeter and more compelling than the air around them. "Can't stand you, either."

"I just--" She unknotted his tie and threw it aside-- "want to go--" She ripped his shirt open, making buttons fly. "--home."

"I know." He reached up under her shirt and undid her bra. "I just want..." He slid his hand around and squeezed her nipple. It was erect, and they moaned in unison. "...some peace and quiet."

"If only the TARDIS hadn't--"

"Yes." He rolled her over, pinning her beneath him, and pressed his lips to her breast. "If it weren't for her," he mumbled against the soft flesh, "I could be rid of you right now."

"It's a pity, all right." She whimpered as he drew the hard peak of her nipple into his mouth and suckled it. "I'm so tired of travelling with you I could scream."

He shifted slightly, moving between her legs and pressing up against her. "Yeah, me too," he muttered. "I'm definitely going to scream."

She was hastily undoing his trousers and shoving down his pants, and he bit back a cry of pleasure as she wrapped her hand around his cock. He managed to keep his vocal response to a sort of strangled wail. But then she began to slide her hand up and down, and he heard himself panting for breath as his spine flexed and his hips jerked, driving his cock into her palm. He reached for her trousers and knickers and dragged them off her with an almost adolescent eagerness.

"I'm sick of looking at your face," she whispered, digging her fingers into his bum and pulling him toward her, all the while never looking away from him.

"Me too," he whispered, staring into her eyes as his body slipped into hers. "Absolutely... sick of you... oh, _Donna_."

" _Doctor_."

He was tired of hearing her voice, so he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.

He was on the most beautiful planet in the universe, and yet all he was aware of was the touch of her hands and the taste of her mouth and the feel of her body as she wrapped her legs around his hips. He sank into her, so deeply their bodies practically merged into one, and they moaned into each other's mouths, unable to say anything at all.

It was safer that way, he thought. All he wanted was to fuck her. He didn't want another bloody argument, or any more insults thrown in his direction, slashing into him like so many daggers. He didn't want to hear her irritating, nagging voice.

And he didn't want to accidentally blurt out how much she meant to him, and how much he really, really didn't want her to leave.

Yes, he thought. Kissing was definitely safer.

He'd told himself he just wanted to fuck her, but this was more than that. So much more. Her hands trailed up under his clothing, caressing up and down his back, and his palms rested on either side of her head, cradling her face as he kissed her, stroking her beautiful ginger hair, and their kisses got longer and sweeter and more tender with each passing moment. They were making love, and there was no way he could convince himself this was mere sex.

Despite himself, he drove deeper and deeper, and moved faster and faster, and soft sounds of frantic need broke from him, muffled by her mouth against his. She must have wanted it faster and deeper too, because her fingers moved downward and curled, digging into his arse, tugging him even closer. And then her body clenched on his and she shuddered beneath him, and he lost himself in her, coming in a long and lovely surge of heat that made him sob with pleasure.

Some time afterward he slowly became aware of the world around them. The warm golden sunlight beat down on the back of his neck, and the sound of birds filled the fragrant air. He lifted his head and looked around, realising he hadn't even bothered to find out if anyone was in the vicinity. T'racsina was uninhabited, but it had plenty of tourists. But he saw no one. They were perfectly alone.

Of course they were. The TARDIS would have seen to that, wouldn't she?

The thought of his recalcitrant time machine made him remember that the two of them hadn't come to this planet voluntarily. Nor had they been happy with one another. In fact they'd been pretty furious with each other, right up to the moment they started tearing each other's clothes off.

Awkwardly, he struggled upright and knelt on the emerald sward, trying to put his clothing to rights. Since a good many of his buttons were missing, this was not entirely a success. He looked around and found his tie hanging over a nearby bush. He picked it up and knotted it round his neck, or tried to. For some reason, his hands were shaking.

"When do you think she'll come back?" 

He looked up and found that Donna had gotten dressed, too. She was grass-stained and rumpled, with leaves ornamenting her ginger hair, but as her clothes were more or less intact, he imagined she looked better than he did. "Who? The TARDIS?"

"No, the Racnoss Empress. Of course the TARDIS, you twit."

His hackles rose, metaphorically speaking, but he tried to restrain himself from snapping. "When she feels like we've had enough time to reconcile, I reckon."

"Well, that's never going to happen. We may wind up waiting till the end of the world."

It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out that for him, the end of the world would occur when she went back to Chiswick, but he managed to keep the words to himself. She didn't need to know he cared. 

Hell, he _didn't_ care. He was tired of her constant nagging. He really was. And she was obviously sick to death of him, too.

He just wished he understood why.

"Come on," he said, and got to his feet. "Let's find breakfast."

_More to come..._


	3. Chapter 3

Food was ridiculously easy to find, dangling as it was from almost every tree and bush. They tasted a few of the many and varied fruits, and finally settled on ones that looked a bit like orange grapes. The fruit had a delicious, citrusy tang, and they ate greedily... and in complete silence.

Silence, the Doctor supposed, was better than what they'd been doing in each other's company recently, which was snarling like rabid dogs. And yet he remembered a time when the two of them had talked endlessly, laughed together, and held hands with casual affection. They'd been good friends-- the best of friends-- and then for two wonderful weeks, they'd been much more than friends.

He missed those days.

He missed _her_.

"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "we deserved this."

Donna paused with one of the grape/orange fruits halfway to her mouth, and blinked at him. "Deserved what? Breakfast?"

"No. Being left here. I mean, from the TARDIS' point of view." He shrugged. "Maybe she just got tired of us. I mean, we've both been acting like children lately."

"Oi! Speak for yourself, Spaceman!"

"It hasn't been just me," he retorted, stung. "You've been picking a fight every time I turn around. You've been trying to make me mad, on purpose. Dunno why, though."

She stared at him. Her jaw dropped. "You don't... know... _why?_ "

He had the uncomfortable feeling he'd missed something. "Um... no."

"You don't... know... why."

She sounded amazed, almost unbelieving, and he had to restrain himself from snapping again. Snapping at her had become something of a habit over the past two weeks. A bad habit, one he needed to correct.

"No," he said, gently. "Care to tell me?"

"You idiot." She shook her head. "You great big bloody outer space moron."

This time, he refused to let her provoke him into a fight. "Tell me," he repeated.

She sighed, and popped one of the orange grapes in her mouth. "We were on that moon, remember? Phostas?"

"Yeah, I remember." It was, he recalled, the last really happy day they'd spent together. They'd wandered around the markets, sharing alien food and drink, buying trinkets to take back to her grandfather, and in general just enjoying themselves. Her hand had been clasped in his, and he hadn't been able to stop smiling. He'd spent the day grinning like a ruddy fool. "We went to the markets there."

"After that. The ball, remember?"

"Oh... right." He remembered she'd found a spectacular gown in the TARDIS' wardrobe room, a sort of shimmering bronze colour that had set off her bright hair. She'd looked so lovely he'd hardly been able to stop himself from dragging her into a chamber somewhere and ravishing her. He frowned, puzzled. "Didn't I dance with you enough? Did I step on your foot, maybe?"

"You git." She sounded exasperated. "It was what you said to the Prince Regent."

The Doctor cocked his head, trying to recall the specifics of the evening. "What did I say?"

"You told him that I was a stray you'd picked up!"

"Er..." The Doctor tried to remember what he'd said to the Prince Regent, but without much success. He remembered chatting with the Regent-- a purple-feathered bloke with eight arms wasn't easy to forget-- but he wasn't as clear on the details of their conversation. His brain had been scrambled by the sight of Donna in that dress. "Did I actually say _stray_?"

"Yes! You actually did!" Her voice rose, and under the customary sharp edge of her words he heard sharper hurt. What he'd said didn't sound all that dreadful to him, but it had clearly hurt her badly. "I'm not a flippin' moggy who stopped by looking for a saucer of milk, Doctor!"

"Course you're not." He reached out tentatively for her. His fingers rested on the back of her hand, and she didn't yank it away, which he thought was a positive sign. "I didn't mean it that way, Donna. I just..."

"You just meant," she said coldly, "that I'm an inferior life form."

"No. Of course not. I just meant... well..." He curled his hand around hers, and his voice lowered almost to a whisper. "I was just trying to pretend you didn't mean that much to me, I reckon." 

"Oh. I see. That makes me feel _much_ better."

"And I meant it as a joke..."

"It wasn't funny."

"No. I can see that." He sighed. "The truth is, I honestly don't know how to introduce you to people now."

"You always used to introduce me as your companion. Or your friend."

"Well, neither of those really fits any more, does it? I mean, of course you're my companion, and of course you're my friend--" He broke off with a sigh. "You _were_ my friend, anyway."

 She turned her hand over, and her fingers squeezed his, just a bit. "Still am," she said, very softly.

Somewhat encouraged, he went on. "But once we started, er... well. I just didn't know what to call you. My lover? My girlfriend? My significant other? My main squeeze? Those words seem so... inadequate, somehow."

"So instead," she said, her voice edged with ice, "you went for _stray_."

"May not have been the best descriptor," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Donna. Really, I am. But why didn't you just tell me that was what upset you?"

"I figured you knew. Blimey, don't you _ever_ listen to yourself talk?"

"Who can bear to listen to someone ramble on like that?" He grinned hopefully, trying to get an answering smile out of her. He thought he saw a flicker of humour in the depths of her eyes, but that was all. He sighed, and grew more serious. "I didn't mean to upset you, Donna. Didn't mean to make you angry, either. Definitely not-- it'd be safer to ask a Dalek if I could borrow its weapon to beat eggs. But if you'd told me what was bothering you..."

"Didn't think I needed to."

Her voice was cold, her back stiff. He looked at her, seeing the pride and stubbornness in every line of her. And unfortunately, he was just as proud, and just as stubborn. He reflected that _he_ could have asked her what was bothering her, instead of allowing her to pick fights constantly. But he'd been too hardheaded to ask, too obstinate to make the first overtures of peace. They were bulldogs, the pair of them, and once they got their jaws into something they just couldn't let go of it.

"I'm sorry," he said again, trying to put away his stubborn pride. "But... well, this isn't easy for me. The whole intimacy thing, I mean. I haven't let myself get so attached to anyone for a long time now, ever since..."

He saw another flicker in her eyes, this one of understanding. "Since your people were lost."

"Before that, even. I... well. The truth is..." He paused for a long moment, then blurted out the truth he'd never told anyone else. "I left Gallifrey for the first time just after my wife died."

Her eyes went wide. "You were _married?_ " She paused, as if considering the matter. "Well, of course you would have been. You told me you had children, so I should've realised. Have a hard time thinking of you as the domestic type, that's all. And besides... I thought Time Lords didn't die. Don't you.. what do you call it... regenerate?"

"Yeah. But if something interferes in the middle of the regeneration... well, sometimes the process fails. My wife had a particular sort of illness that prevented her from regenerating fully, and she died." She'd passed away with him clutching her hand, and he'd wept into her hair, begging her to please, _please_ come back to him-- but Donna didn't need to know the grim details of something that had happened centuries ago. Maybe one day he'd tell her everything, but for now, it was enough that she knew the outlines.

"And then you left home for good?"

"Yeah. Don't look at me like that-- my children were all grown. Blimey, I had great-great-grandchildren by that time. But when I left Gallifrey, I... well, I just stopped letting people in. I don't mean I gave up sex entirely, but as for letting women in _here_ \--" He pressed his fist to one heart, then the other. "Not so much."

"I know what you mean," she said softly. "After Lance, and everything that he did, I didn't think there'd ever be anyone else again. I really didn't. But then..."

Her voice trailed off, and he squeezed her hand, very gently. "It was a nice two weeks, wasn't it?"

"It was. It really was." Her thumb stroked his palm, just a bit. "I guess we'll always have that, at least."

"Two weeks of happiness isn't so bad, really. It's more than some people get in a lifetime."

"That's true." She appeared to be mulling over the thought. "We had two weeks of happiness, and then two very bad weeks."

"Maybe," he suggested, "we could try for two more good weeks."

"Might work. We already know we can get along for two weeks. So it shouldn't be all that difficult to do it again. Then you could drop me off in Chiswick on a high note."

"Yeah," he agreed. "That'd be better, wouldn't it?"

"We just have to avoid rowing, that's all. Just for two weeks. Do you think we can do it?"

"Definitely," he said, putting an arm around her. "As long as we actually _talk_ to each other."

"Actually," she suggested, pulling his face down to hers, "I think it might be better if we don't talk at all."

"Mmmmm," he said against her lips. "I think you might be right."

*****

It was late afternoon, local time, when the TARDIS rematerialised. The Doctor was sprawled in the grass, stark naked, with Donna's head pillowed on his chest. She was snoring contentedly, and he himself was half asleep. Through his peaceful haze, he heard the grinding, whining sound that heralded the time machine's arrival, and he cracked open one eye and glared at her.

"This isn't what it looks like," he told her.

The TARDIS made a rude noise, which he interpreted to mean, _Oh, of **course** not_.

"Really. It's not. We've decided to stay together for two more weeks. Just two. And then I'll drop her off in Chiswick."

The TARDIS sighed. _If you say so._

"I do say so. And you--" He pointed a finger at the time machine and spoke in a stern voice. "You've been a bad girl. You're not supposed to run off and leave me stranded. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

The TARDIS made a plaintive sound.

"It's all right," he said, more gently. He'd never been able to stay angry with the old girl. "I s'pose I'm lucky to have you to look out for me."

_You certainly are._

"Anyway..." He stroked Donna's hair and breathed in the lovely fragrance of the planet. "I don't think we'll be leaving just yet."

This time, he was quite certain, the TARDIS' mocking laughter was not in his imagination. He scowled, annoyed. "I'm only keeping her around for two more weeks, y'know."

_Of course._

"And maybe two weeks after that. And just possibly..." He yawned cavernously. "...two more after that..."

His voice trailed off, and he fell asleep in the golden sunlight of a perfect day, Donna Noble in his arms, while the TARDIS stood quietly and watched over them... just as she always did.

_-The End-_


End file.
